Dave invited his old friend from high school to hang out with us last Tuesday. She’s married to a man who doesn’t let her go anywhere or do anything, and it’s up to her to stay at home watching the kids. Her life sounds exactly like the one I’m desperately avoiding.

She snuck away for a few hours and met Dave and I at Jersey Joe’s. And in those precious hours at Jersey Joe’s, she confessed that it was the most fun she ever had in her life.

Dave said to me – “Isn’t it crazy she said that? We do this shit everyday and she said it was the best time of her life?”

Me – “I feel like we take our lives for granted.”

I haven’t blogged in a while. I’ve been going out and playing video games, sleeping a good solid twelve hours each night (well, almost each night).

I had insomnia a few days ago. I kept thinking about my upcoming trip to Columbia and how real the trip is starting to feel with each passing hour. I have only hours left! In the beginning it was only a vision, an idea – a cool experience to have. But now the due date is approaching and it’s starting to feel so real that it’s unworldly and unfathomable for me to go.

These past few days I would experience large gaps of time through-out the day where I would forget I was going to Columbia. But as soon as I remembered, that’s when I felt ice-cold spear-heads splintering into my chest cavity. I’m not sure if other people have this problem, but whenever there is something in my future approaching that makes me scared shitless, I get jabs of icy shocks in my heart.

It happens when I quit jobs or dump boys – this is the first time I’m feeling it for a trip, though.

So anyway, I lied awake in bed thinking about Columbia and feeling jets of ice pulsing in and out of my ventricles.

“I’m going to be in the Amazon jungle soon, high as a kite from shamanic medicine. Is this dangerous? Will I die?”

Then I’d go on YouTube to watch other people’s experiences on similar shamanic retreats and calm myself down.

How tough am I? I mean really? This past week I’ve been sizing myself up, assessing my physical endurance and strength. But when I make a muscle in my bicep, it feels soft. My wrists are thin and dainty. My feet flat and my spine crooked. I’m in no shape to go Rambo if need be. Did Rambo take place in Columbia?

The only thing that put my heart at ease was my friends telling me I’m going to have the time of my life. It’s an experience of a lifetime and if I’m brave enough to do it, I should do it and I’ll most likely love it.

I hate hearing negativity from people. I hate hearing that I’m crazy and it’s a bad idea and that I should stay home – I don’t want all that on my mind when I’m tripping out. Everyone has been really supportive of me going except for one of my ex-friends who is hell-bent on continuing to make my life miserable. She went behind my back and talked to my brother about my trip telling him how dangerous it is. She know’s nothing about Columbia, she’s never been there, and I’m guessing she doesn’t know anyone that ever been there. She know’s nothing about this trip, but decided to take it upon herself to make my brother believe that I’m going there to die.

My poor brother who wasn’t worried before, now suddenly had the urge to call me up in a panick and try to talk me out of going. He wanted to take the little money he had saved and give it to me to compensate for my loss.

I was a nervous wreck before he called, so this was the last thing I wanted to hear. She’s also telling my parents that I’m going to Columbia. They think I’m going to Florida to visit a friend. I know the truth would literally kill them, and she know’s that too, but she doesn’t care.

Just when I think her vengeance can’t reach any further, she takes it up a notch. She also told my brother that I’m not talking to her – ME not talking to HER! She hasn’t bothered calling me for months and now all of a sudden it’s me – again, as always, it’s me who refuses to speak to her and I’m the one being the indignant prick. I’m so done with this nonsense – I’m above it and don’t need it in my life.

Well, I’m not kissing anyone’s ass ever again that’s for sure. That goes for everyone – not just bosses and intolerant bitchy clients. I’m actually learning to stick up for myself. Fuck the world. I have all that I need and will ever need. And that is belief in one’s own self.

I’m too tired and stressed to write about this anymore.

I was in such a good mood yesterday because my little massage business is rocking out and Groupon contacted me wanting to add me to their featured listings.

I went against everyone telling me not to start my own business (even my own mother), to feeling like I could never go back to what I was doing before. Waiting tables? Working a register? I will never go back. Not ever. I will never rely on any job or any boss ever again. I will never kiss anyone’s ass for as long as I shall live lord hear my prayer.

I’m in love with my business – absolutely in love. Everything about it I love. But I always get a euphoric high when starting a new job, so I hope this isn’t the case. Something tells me it’s not.

My client gave me $100 today for a one-hour massage. Can you believe that? $100! After he left, I cranked open a window in my office and listened to the rain outside and the muffled music from the nearby restaurant – smells of food wafted in drenching my mouth in drool. I sat down on the stool in front of my makeshift desk (tv tray with a tablecloth draped over it) where I keep my business phone and I set to work on recording a voicemail greeting.

I practiced a few times and gave it a go. Nope, no good. I gave it another try – still no. This went on for 20 or 30 takes. Speak, listen, delete, speak, listen, delete, speak, delete, speak, delete. I finally accepted a greeting, hung up the phone, and seconds later my mother calls the business phone.

“What the fuck?”

She always calls. Its unrelenting and extraordinary frustrating. The shit she tells me has incalculable amounts of me wanting to punch something. Well, she called my business phone, I pick up the receiver and hear dead silence.

Me – “Hello? Hello hello?”

I pressed a bunch of buttons.

Me – “Hello?”

“Shit no, please oh god no.”

The call was gone.

I call her back quickly on my cell. I’m immediately bombarded with questions.

Mom – “Where are you? Why didn’t you answer the phone? It’s raining, do you know how to work the defrost?”

I drank so much last night that I couldn’t drive home. My friend had to give me a lift. It was his fault anyway. He kept buying me whipped cream vodka shots with baileys – they’re like little mudslide shots – so delicious.

Without missing a beat I say – “It sounds more interesting than telling people I’m going to Florida. I figure this way when people call and hear I’ll be gone for a week, normally they will hang up and I’ll never hear from them again. At least this way it sounds like I’m doing something very important and they’ll want to meet me and book an appointment just to hear about my trip. It’s no big deal, I seen documentaries about it and read a lot of books. I can wing it.”

My mom starts laughing! I couldn’t believe my ears. She not only bought it, but thought it was hilarious. I never could tell what that woman finds amusing. This one is definitely a shocker.

Me – “Ha ha, I try to make myself sound cool.”

After that humdinger, I text my ex-friend begging her not to tell my parents, but she didn’t listen. She’s out to get me and won’t stop until I’m six feet under – which according to her, will be in the next few days. The sad and horrible thing is, if I do manage to come back home alive and well, bursting with stories and wonderful experiences, she would resent me. She would rather have me come back hurt and broken than for her to be wrong about this trip. That’s how prideful she is. Pride is a scary, powerful thing. I don’t have much of it as you can plainly see. I respect myself, but I’m not prideful. She wishes ill will for me and doesn’t even know it.

That’s my life.

What else happened these past few weeks? Nothing major. Well, I did wet the bed one night.

I came home drunk, tired from insomnia, and passed out cold for 12 hours straight. It was towards the end of those twelve hours when I had the pee dream – you know the one, the one where you’re sitting on the toilet in your bathroom and a big friendly pit bull is wagging his nubby tail at you and nudging your leg trying to coax you into peeing? Yeah, that dream. It felt so good, but somehow wrong. “Uhh, yeah, oh feels so good. It feels good little doggie….Wait, why does this feel wrong? And what’s with the dog?” I became aware of my dream and what was happening mid-stream. I looked down at the dog and said to him, “Oh shit…” I opened my eyes and felt for the damage.

I never wet the bed when I was a kid. I never had to wear daipers to bed or be scared of sleeping over people’s houses. No, I had to wait until I’m 32 and sound asleep on a memory foam mattress – One that absorbs EVERYTHING!

Hey, you wanted to know my life, so here it is. How the hell did I get 60 followers with this nonsense? Anyway, I probably won’t see you again until after I get back from my “trip.” I’ll journal everything, take pictures and video’s and capture the experience as best I can – just like I did for the Nepal post. I don’t care what happens to me in Columbia, it’s not going to be nearly as bad as the hellish time I had in Nepal.

It’s the people you go with. Going to new countries, to me, is awesome. Adventure is awesome. It’s the people you go with that can make or break your trip.